


Choosing 'Better' (Malfoys Are Always Right)

by hideinthecitynight (avoidbrightstreetlights)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bad Parenting, Childhood, Dating, Dominant Harry, Draco's POV, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Furiously snogging against the wall is the best, Gay Draco Malfoy, Horny Teenagers, I'm so happy for him, Jealous Harry, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Marriage Contracts, Nerd Draco Malfoy, Possessive Harry, Powerfull Harry potter, Proprieties, Pureblood Constrictions, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Resolved Sexual Tension, Shy Draco Malfoy, Smug Draco, although more like 5+4, because withholding praise from a child is cruel, but hormones quickly fix that, god those two tags should not stand side by side, i think he is here anyway, i'm done now, making choices, mentions of rimming, no, poor impulse control, sexual awakening, you know what - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidbrightstreetlights/pseuds/hideinthecitynight
Summary: Draco confidently passed the scroll to his father knowing that it was perfect. He'd conducted a thorough research and was sure it would be the best one in their year. He held himself with pride and a feeling of achievement. He waited in silence."You can do better than this, Draco," father said and threw the parchment in the fire.Or 5 times father thought Draco could 'do better' and 4 times that 'better' was really close to doing him (ahem. you know... God, Harry is his better alright. Here, have some teaser:On the date itself, Draco was as careful as he was in his planning. He held face, was very composed and polite; he miscalculated, of course. Potter did not want polite or even nice. He, as a true Gryffindor, despised restrictions.They ended up in the alley snogging furiously. Draco felt Potter tried to consume him right then and there.He now could certainly see the joys of the unrestricted freedom.Merlin, that man was possessive. Leaving the alley, Draco felt thoroughly claimed. He could barely hide his pleased grin.)





	Choosing 'Better' (Malfoys Are Always Right)

Dark blue and rich green swirls intertwined in an enchanting dance of leaves lost in the night sky. Sharp lines of the thunderstorm struggling through the veil, striving to be noticed, cutting through the haze.

Draco stood in front of the painting, entranced.

Father took him to the Knockturn today. He had business in the shop, he was a very important man. Father said everyone had to and would listen to him so it was true.

While father was talking business, Draco wandered off, finding the painting leaning against the wall, forgotten on the floor, all in dust. He pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the painting clean. 

The painting, now bright and striking, took his breath away. All the greens reminded him of the forest at the edge of their property. Although, he had never seen a lightning through its density, particularly because he was not allowed outside during the storm. But he wished he had, desperately.

He closed his eyes and breathed in, imagining the smell of rain, flashes of light across his face, deafening rumbling of the sky; all inspired by the painting. His mouth unconsciously dropped slightly open and a small smile crossed his face.

"Draco."

His father's voice jerked him out of the fantasy and he immediately jumped to his feet, dusting hastily his trousers.

He whirled around just in time to see his father come behind him. He tried to control his expression but his eyes must have shined because father’s face narrowed.

"Look," said Draco, barely concealing his excitement. He stepped to the side and revealed the painting. Father must recognize true art. Maybe they could buy it. He wanted it. It was the most beautiful painting he ever saw.

Father scrutinized the piece of art carefully. His nostrils flared and a tightness around his mouth appeared. Draco’s shoulders sagged. 

"I've seen better. Let's go," was his callous, careless remark. It cut right into little boy's heart.

But- but he wanted it! It had to be his. And Malfoys always had their way.

"But, father! We have to buy it."

Father was about to leave but he slowly moved towards Draco again, his expression tight.

"Pansy!" He blurted desperately. "Pansy said no-one can capture a thunder on the painting. I thought I'd prove her wrong. I'm a Malfoy, I'm right."

His father's lips twitched into a smirk. "You'll win your little bet, don't worry. It's admirable that you were going to settle it yourself. However, if there is an option, you must win on every front, leaving the enemy no gaps to poke. You must have the best painting to present her and I know just where to find it. Let's go."

Draco s shoulders sagged and he gave the painting a mournful last glance before leaving.

Father kept his word and bought him 'the best' painting.

 It was hideous. Average manipulation of colour, lines soft and vague and out of character; it looked too fake and he couldn't  picture himself in there at all; worse, it portrayed a field and scared horses running haphazardly. No forest even in the distance.

Father wanted to hang it in his room for he 'chose it himself', for it was 'first beams of refined mature taste' from his heir. Draco hoped to throw a vicious tantrum so that mother would get rid of it. Hopefully, burn it or feed it to the peacocks. Those birds would recognize this tastelessness like their own sibling.

  - /-

 Draco was trying on dark blue robes in the shop. The sleeves flowed freely from his shoulders which compensated the strict waist line. The material had delicate ethnic patterns stitched near the neck. So simple yet so beautiful. He thought his grey eyes and pale face were shining when complimented by such a rich colour.

"The black one is better. We will take it," said his father, immediately killing his mood. 

He slowly undressed and in a moment of weakness and rage, threw the robe angrily onto the floor and stomped his feet on it. He then took a regretful breath, straightened his posture, composed himself, and picked the robe up. He sighed with regret at ruining such beauty. Maybe he didn't deserve such a rich colour. No, the colour just- Malfoys don't wear colour. They wear black. It's masculine and shows their status, how above all they are.

They exited the shop; like father, like son, blond hair on the head held high. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a boy slightly older than him emerging from the depth of the shop in  _his_ blue robe and his hand twitched.

-/-

“Good job, Greg,” his father said dispassionately.

Draco’s stomach dropped and his broom uncontrollably jerked to the side. 

They’ve been flying for what felt like hours. He didn’t even notice when his father appeared on the field. These were the first words he said.

“Draco, adjust you grip on the broom, you’re doing it wrong. Rotate the wrist a bit to the side.”

Draco tried the slightly different position and immediately knew it would not work for him. It would slow his response when turning, he just knew that.

But, he guessed he had to try. Father said so. Father must know best. He’s a Malfoy, after all.

But wasn’t he, Draco, a Malfoy too? Wasn’t he supposed to know how best it was to handle the broom when he was literally handling it?

He barely had time to dodge the bludger when he heard his father tense voice telling him to concentrate and take a good shot.

The thing was, he hated this position. He hated the bat and that damn thing that always tried to knock him off his broom.

Another thing was the logistics. Technically, he knew the rules of the game. They could be fair as far as rules in a sport go. But he couldn’t bring himself to strike the bludger with as much force as he could. What for? To knock Greg off the broom? But he didn’t deserve it, even though he got a ‘good job’ from father and Draco didn’t.

He thought that he simply didn’t have it in him. What was the point of hurting his friend? Just for a game? For some fun? Was that how wars started as well – people fought each other for fun?

His tiny hand grasped the broom tightly as he dodged the bludger Greg mindlessly sent his way. He exhaled his sudden spike of fear shakily and ordered himself to get a grip – it would not earn him any kind words from father if he saw how Draco felt.

Later, when Greg left and father told Draco to practice that grip so he would fly ‘better’, Draco took out the snitch from the box. Such a devious little thing, fluttering almost soundlessly and dodging wind itself. Now this he understood. He had to be more cunning than the mechanism, he had to be faster, smarter. It took dedication and sheer stubbornness.

He wished he had a friend to play seeker’s games with.

With a small smile, he released the snitch.

  - /-

 "Now, show me that essay."

Draco confidently passed the scroll to his father knowing that it was perfect. He'd conducted a thorough research and was sure it would be the best one in their year. He held himself with pride and a feeling of achievement. He waited in silence.

"You can do better than this, Draco," father said and threw it in the fire.

Draco watched his research of two weeks burn. He barely suppressed a violent shudder but his feeling still manifested in an uncontrolled sharp twitch of his hand and a small jerk of his head. Father did not see, thank Merlin.

He nodded then. He would rewrite it if his father said so. There was no otherwise choice, now was there?

Father gave him books from his own study and some recommendations on improvement. Then he excused his son from the room. Draco took the books and left, restraining himself from looking regretfully at the ashes of his old scroll. He did not make a copy of it and berated himself for being do dumb.

His new work took him the same amount of time. Even though there were new sources, he was already familiar with the topic so he was supposed to complete the work at least twice as fast. But he didn't because the books father gave him were obscure and ominous. He knew for a fact that some ingredients mentioned there prohibited by the ministry and some theories were outdated. Of course, the last ones could be helpful in describing the evolution of theory.  _If_ it was his main focus and he had more inches to write.

He took information from father's books and incorporated them into his essay the best he could. He read through it twice, and then the third time, for luck.

He gave his father his work and waited.

"All you need to do is polish it and you can hand it in. Don't forget to do extra credit."

And then he was dismissed, without another glance.

What did father mean,  _polish_? It was perfect! Clear and coherent, every sentence meaningful and to the point. Perfect grammar, sophisticated word choice. How could he possibly improve?

And it already  _was_ extra credit. 

Well, if it was not good enough, then it was not good enough. He would have to work harder.

At least he didn't have to see it burn.

"Yes, father, thank you," he dutifully said and left the study.

He worked hard day and night. Finally, it was ready.

But father didn't read it. He was too busy to read a school paper. Draco’s face flushed prickly red of embarrassment at his lack of his own independence. He couldn't even complete an essay without getting someone's approval!

He scowled darkly in his room and wished to burn his work.

He didn't.

When the time came, he only got half the credit. Outdated sources costed him the other half.

And then he wished he did burn it.

  - /-

 "As we are picking your future spouse we believe you must have a say in this, Draco. Who do think will be the best wife for you?"

Draco was dressed impeccably, up to father's standards, but even that did not sooth his nerves.

_'_ _Zabini_ _, perhaps, could enter a contract,_ _he's expressed his desire for_ _me_ _and he-'_

Draco cut his train of thought rather abruptly and tried to stifle any reaction. That was not- he was  _not_ supposed to think like that. He had to choose a  _wife_ and not be chosen as one. He would be a husband, the head of the family. He was a respectable pureblood and there never was any...  _perversions_ in his line, not like that. So he did not have one either.

He had to be a husband, take a wife, produce an heir, have an outstanding political career. This was his duty before his family.

Flashes of his imagination showing him his future self making new potions in spare time from raising his son appeared before his eyes and he quickly removed them. He would still have time to spend the time with his child even while having an active demanding career. His father did it and he juggled everything perfectly.

Didn't he?

His hand flinched involuntary and he tried to stir himself away from those thoughts.

"Pansy Parkinson," he gave the answer calmly. Pansy was his friend and she didn't usually give any boys a second glance. She liked being affectionate with him, but not once did he see her even glance at his lips or just indicate her interest in any way. He did not see it directed at anyone else either, for that matter. And still, he knew that just like him she was to be wed.

"Bad idea. There is too much debt to their name," said his father casually.

Draco held his breath and tightened his fists in an attempt to suppress any consequent involuntary twitches. His face did not waiver though. Serene and compliant, just like his mother’s.

"Astoria Greengrass. Yes, I think it will even benefit us. It's good she's so young, it will be easier to manipulate her to enter the contract even despite whatever her parents’ wishes are." He looked up from the papers and looked Draco right in the eye, so sternly demanding. "You can romanticize a girl, can't you, son?"

Draco felt sick. Even being asked that - he felt dirty. He was a pureblood, there were proprieties to uphold, he could not be so brutally honest and calculating. And why give him a choice if father had already decided beforehand? Because he could bet he already had a contract prepared. Was this just another test? A test?!

He let a small smirk that he absolutely did not feel inside curl on his lips as he answered, "Of course."

When he was dismissed, Draco went to his room. He could not resist looking in the large mirror and then just stayed in front of it for a while. He knew he was vain; he treasured his own beauty dearly. It was worth more than any gold.

 He examined the lightness of his skin, fascinated at how fair it was. He thought about Zabini's next to his and found it thrilling.

No one was quite as pale as him.

Patches of skin much lighter than Zabini's but definitely darker than his flashed before his eyes.

He trailed his fingers down his sharp cheekbones feather light.

He wondered if Potter liked his looks.

His breath caught.

  - /-

It turned out, Potter liked his looks very much. As he pressed Draco into the wall, he, it seemed, tried to kiss every inch of Draco's skin. Gently licking, nipping at smooth surface, making Draco tilt his head back, clutch at Potter's waist and hair, and close his eyes in pleasure. Potter would slowly trail his lips along the long neck, making Draco tremble in anticipation and yearn for more, and then he'd speed up and hungrily attack every square of skin available. Draco’s breath started hitching deliriously and, before any conscious thought could stop him, he was letting out little wanton moans. At that, Potter pressed himself even closer.

As Potter moved further down he hit a block - the collar of his shirt giving no place to even tag a little to the side. 

Potter moved his hand from clutching at his hair, tilting his head wherever he wanted it for better access, to the buttons of his shirt. He unclasped only a first few, to Draco's sheer relief and devastating disappointment, then moved it to the side, clearing his path, and started on his collarbone.

His other hand moved down from Draco’s waist and surely grabbed the right globe of his arse, groping him shamelessly and pressing their fronts even closer; simultaneously, Potter viciously bit his skin and then started licking it with his tongue.

Draco let out a loud long moan that had begun almost with a shout.

He was in heaven.

The feel of Potter's hands on him, his tongue- the feel of his hardness pressing into his- the way Potter was just simply insatiable and strived to possess Draco fully, to claim every inch of his body-

Draco could not get enough; he wanted more.

Of course, he saw Potter looking. He always thought it was because who his father was and, of course, his own scheming. Turned out, those were not the only reasons.

Oh but Potter was so dense and oblivious and just so  _insufferable_ sometimes. Because he wouldn't admit to a thing at first! Even after the dinner in the great hall, the first real time Draco believed there was hope. When Zabini was bending down closely to him and whispering his offer in Draco’s ear seductively. When Potter suddenly plunged the knife deep into the table, making a crack spread into the half of the wood and attracting a lot of attention of fascinated horror. His eyes were glaring daggers at Zabini, the boy’s hand on Draco's shoulder, how he was serving him food, courting him, and, of course, their proximity - if he had to guess from the murderous flicking of eyes between the two Slytherins.

But Draco - oh Draco did not  _just_ blush at that scene. He turned deep crimson red, met Potter's gaze steadily for just a moment, and then quickly ducked his head. Such a display of pure power - physical and magical - was so, so  _hot_. He could barely breathe his heart thundered so loudly.

Zabini barely glanced at the Gryffindor who was ready to hex him into the oblivion. What he did notice though was Draco creating distance between them.

Draco then looked up at Potter for approval and saw that the chosen one had calmed down significantly and was trying to take out the knife from the wood nonchalantly. 

A thrill ran through Draco's body.

Even stronger one was running through him now as Potter moved his hand from his hair, trusting Draco to keep the position he demanded of him - not just simply wanted, no, with how he was clutching at it and keeping it in place, he was demanding - and trailed it slowly down his body, stopping at his other cleft and then trailing further, grabbing his thigh and hitching it over his hips. Potter was now snuggled very comfortably between his legs, all the while not breaking his ravishing of the pale skin.

Draco, hesitantly at first but at the discovered pleasure shamelessly after, started rubbing his hardness against Harry's. He was on the edge; another bite, another squeeze, another press or tug and he would explode.

He had never done anything like this before despite a few offers he had received. He was a pureblood, there were proprieties to uphold.

Trust Potter to break every and any resolve he had. Oh, but he wanted this for so long, he fantasized about this  _s_ _o_ much - how could he possibly refuse himself this? This war pure perfection, a blissful dream.

He could not wait to see the marks Potter left on him. Of course, he'd have to heal them but not before taking a close look, trailing his fingers along them, remembering how he got them, dreaming if he would ever get more. And of course, not before storing this memory into the pensive he kept hidden and heavily warded just in case.

Just in case he forgot how real it felt. Just in case he would never have this again.

He pressed Potter's head closer, urging him to leave more marks, to claim him more thoroughly.

Potter suddenly and forcefully snapped his hips forward, setting a brutal rhythm.

Draco remembered electric pleasure overloading him and not much immediately after that.

  - /-

Draco looked at the letter father had sent him and then at Astoria sitting not far from him.

Of course, he disapproved his son's plan and thought it could be 'better'. He often wondered these days how could he hate such a simple yet necessary for usage word? 'Better'?

The plan of their date modified by his father did look more sophisticated and, if he dared, over the top, even for him.

He pulled out the copy of his letter to father and look through the original. It was simpler, yes, but it did not mean it was dull or would not impress his date. Because, when devising this plan, the date he had in mind to romanticize was Harry. The prat was so easily to impress, he asked so little of him; however, that would never be and now wasn't an excuse to lower his bar and try less. No, that meant trying even harder because Draco wanted to give the boy  _everything_. He felt Harry was not very appreciated as a child. His every reaction to surprises or even small gestures screamed about it. He was so confident and unwavering when rushing into trouble or even, well,  _touching_ Draco, but was absolutely adorably lost when showed kindness and thoughtfulness. And Draco wanted to show off, prove that he was the best for Harry, that he could give him so much, and not only in a material sense.

He did not like how girls looked at him. He was sure they, just like Draco, noticed the gift of fates that was Harry Potter. He had so little time. He wanted Harry and he'd do everything to keep him.

His leg bounced and a touch of paranoia crawled under his skin.

He vanished father's letter and started working in the original copy, making it a draft and devising a more thorough plan, thinking through possible variables and questions and situations.

On the date itself, Draco was as careful as he was in his planning. He held face, was very composed and polite; he miscalculated, of course. Potter did not want polite or even nice. He, as a true Gryffindor, despised restrictions. 

They ended up in the alley snogging furiously. Draco felt Potter tried to consume him right then and there. He thought that, despite all his planning, this unpredictability was the highlight of his day.

He now could certainly see the joys of the unrestricted freedom. Not that he would let himself loose, of course not. But he was more pliant to indulge in it a little. A lot, if Harry touched him like that more. A lot if Harry just touched him at all, period. 

Merlin, that man was possessive. Leaving the alley, Draco felt thoroughly claimed. He could barely hide his pleased grin.

  - /-

“Oh, argh- oh, Merlin, please,” panted Draco, almost delirious with pleasure.

“My name is Harry,” his lover chuckled darkly. “I think it’s time for you to learn that.”

And then he burrowed his face back into his neck and bit the recently thoroughly bruised skin. Draco chocked on his moan and clutched at Harry.

“I- I’m not sure we should be doing it,” Draco blurted out unwillingly.

Harry stopped his kisses and wandering hands. Draco had just cockblocked himself and he whined desperately for those hands to resume their devouring. 

“You don’t want this?” Harry asked, lifting his head and creating some distance.

“No, I-” he stopped once again trying to grasp at Harry so that the man would not leave him any further. “My father wouldn’t like this.”

The words burned in his throat. Merlin, what a terrible feeling took root in his heart and spread in all the ways. That thought, that one though, ‘what would his father say?’ etched deeply into his mind. It was a disease, the one he did not always suspect he wanted to cure.

Harry suddenly moved closer to him and once again forcefully pressed against him as well as re-establishing his grip on Draco’s hair and carefully yanking it back, a gentle reminder.

“I don’t care what your father thinks. This is none of his business.”

He looked so  _powerful_ like this. Draco licked his lips; he was sure his pupils must be blown wide.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Harry said then, enunciating every word, “he can kiss my arse.”

He smirked and let his hand wandered to Draco’s behind and purposefully knead it. 

Draco exhaled shakily at such blatant disrespect. It was strange, it was scary, but it was also exhilarating and arousing. Someone who wasn’t afraid of his father; someone who knew what he was fully capable and still unafraid; someone who stood against him and still said  _such a shameless_ thing.

“I’d rather it was me who kissed your arse, Harry,” he said with all the fake confidence he could muster. He was rather astonished at himself, to be honest, at how he could even say such a bold faced filth out loud, that he even  _dared_ -

“Let me lead by example, baby,” was Harry’s hot breath on his ear and Draco shuddered: the voice, those words, that  _desire_. He could only nod as fast as he could, transmitting the sincerity of his consent non-verbally. “I’ll eat you out so good.”

Draco could barely breath. He felt so hot he was ready to pass out.  

He still relaxed dutifully and let Harry undress him.

Living in sin was the best thing that ever happened to him.

-/-

 Their family was disgraced, of course. The war took its toll and gleefully had its vengeance on their reputation after father's wrong choice of sides.

The Greengrasses were no longer reviewing the marriage contract.

As if Draco gave a damn.

The day Draco brought Harry home and presented him as his, forever and ever, his father was left murderously speechless – oh, if looks could kill. They still wouldn't have worked on Harry though, the Boy Who Stole His Heart and Claimed as His.

Of course, his father wanted him to marry a pureblood wife but they did not want him. The feeling that was mutual. 

But what for did he need a wife if he had Harry Potter, the Saviour, the Slayer of the Dark Lord. He had more power in his pinky than the Minister of Magic himself.

He could simply  _not_ do 'better'. Because even in his father's eyes, there was  _no one_ better. Potter was the most powerful and influential man in the country, at least. Even father saw that Potter was  _t_ _he best._ Even if father though he was marrying just for power, still, there was no one who could outdo Harry in that regard.

Feeling of accomplishment and victory, finally, after all these  _y_ _ears_ , left Draco feeling a bit drunk.

He now had everything, everything he ever wanted.

He relaxed in Harry's arms with a contented sigh.

He chose his own ‘better’.

Finally.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on wouldyoureallyknow.tumblr.com
> 
> Comments are love, just like kudos. I love feedback, I survive on it. Don't be a Lucius Malfoy.  
> Hope you enjoyed the story.  
> Till the next time (probably on tumblr though, as usual, we'll see).


End file.
